


One Candle

by Starbroken



Category: Death Note
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 22:55:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7194242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starbroken/pseuds/Starbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of mini-drabbles concerning Mikami and the birthdays he's had in his lifetime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Candle

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this for his birthday in 2015... but today I realized I have not posted a single Death Note fic to AO3 and I needed to change this. So I tweaked this for slightly nicer wording and here it is now.
> 
> 'Moments through Mikami's life' fic is probably the most common trope with the man but he lends himself to it a little too well.

A single piece of cake and a single candle. Of course, Teru knows that other children get a full cake and candles that increase in amount every year, an ever-growing celebration of their ongoing life. To him, that seems frivolous. He decided early on that he doesn’t need frivolous things. ‘Congratulations you made it’ doesn’t need to be spectacular.

Teru is not a greedy boy. He’s not and his mother brushes her hand through his hair for it and smiles. “You have so much common sense, Teru,“ she says fondly and it’s a plea for her son to never change. Teru looks at the single flame that’s flickering at him and silently vows that he’ll be as unchanging as the number of candles they afford.

He eats and his mother sips from her small cup of tea. The cake is so sweet that it makes him feel a little nauseous, but that feeling is the usual symbolic bell’s chime to welcome him into his new year.

-

Teru is 14 now and the clock on the wall is ticking painfully slow. He’s taken care that every minute of his day is occupied so he won’t have time to stop and think, but the muffled sobs he can hear from downstairs are throwing him off and giving him a headache. He doesn’t pity her. 

Even though he hasn’t taken a bite of the cake or any other food since coming home, he can still feel the taste of ashes everywhere on his tongue.

-

Three weeks later he has to escape people clad solely in block so he can rinse his mouth in the bathroom. A certain relief creeps into his mind at the thought that _next year_ there won’t be ashes anymore. There won’t be anything and he won’t have to feel anything ever again. He steps back outside with more certainty.

There are too many pitying eyes and too many candles.

-

His aunt asks if he wants anything for his birthday and Teru declines. One word is all it takes to get rid of the cake and the candle, but it takes three years until he stops feeling off-schedule on June 7th.

-

„What’s this about?“ prosecutor Mikami asks and his assistant can’t help feel accomplished noticing a wavering in his voice. She interprets it as a testament of emotion, of her boss being touched. Confidently, she offers a smile. „I saw what date it was today and I didn’t want to meet you empty-handed. Happy Birthday.“

Mikami looks at his desk, at the elegant feminine-looking plate hosting a piece of perfectly decorated lemon cake, sporting a single candle on the top.

He persistently endures the feeling of rotting away with each bite, but the sticky sugar seems to attach itself to his insides permanently. Proud of herself, Nakajima adds the cake to his yearly schedule.

-

The new one looks at the front desk with bewilderment and Nakajima feels sheepish. “It’s… June 7th.“ The explanation she offers is halfhearted and prosecutor Saotome's eyebrows only raise higher. The clock on her desk ticks excruciatingly and she can’t explain to herself why she feels this ashamed.

“It was his birthday,“ she finally brings herself to say. "Your predecessor’s, I mean. I know he disappeared months ago, but I used to make a cake for him every year and it’s.. strange to go entirely without. It’s just a silly bit of sentimentality." Nakajima pauses for a beat and readjusts her smile.  "… by the way, your birthday is in September, isn’t it? Do you have a favourite type of bakery?“

_It is a little sad_ , she thinks to herself, _that there isn't any grave I could bring cake to_. Bearing this knowledge in mind and feeling her heart getting heavy, she had given up on baking this year. There is no doubt in her mind that Teru Mikami had left this world - he had never missed work even once before.

In reminiscence, a single candle now burns in an office that no longer carries his name.

-

There is no candle anymore and there never will be again. Elsewhere, other people still smile at each other over large cakes, congratulating each other on having made it this far.


End file.
